


words fail me

by luvvbott



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, My First AO3 Post, Not Beta Read, keiran is a loner who needs a hug, lots of eye contact frfr, mary-beth is wlw icon, mentions of internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvvbott/pseuds/luvvbott
Summary: the three times arthur showed love towards someone he didn't think he should and the one time he said "I love you."





	1. Horseshoe Overlook; Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> hello there!
> 
> tags may change!
> 
> It's been quite some time since I had wrote anything and this ship has simply dragged me back to writing and I'm glad they did ❤

It was a chilly Thursday night, colder than usual, Kieran had overheard Hosea this morning as he gazed at the wide greenery by the edge of the camp that a storm might be coming, rain that would put them out of commission for a day or two

Kieran could see the Abigail lady and the rest of the girls prepare lanterns for the dark days ahead, chores were put off till then excluding Pearson's and Kieran's, after all people and horses had to be fed. 

It was when the sun had set did a cold and harsh breeze wrapped around camp, it wasn't as cold as it was up in the mountains but it brought a definite shiver down their spines. Kieran expected everyone else to tuck in and hide away for the night but it took one strum from Mr. Escuella's guitar for a handful of folks to gather around the warm fire and enjoy what little light and heat they'd be left with before it could rain. 

It had even convinced Dutch and his lady, Miss O'Shea to leave the confines of their larger tent and come join, the gaggle of outlaws forming into one eccentric family which all seemed to truly understand and trust one another. It was warm, homey and right.

An outsider would have been jealous. And Kieran was jealous.

It had only been a week and a couple of days since he was untied from the tree at the east side of camp, he wasn't expecting the most open welcome especially when he had ratted out his old gang -- for just reasons, but the Van Der Lindes weren't exactly known to understand just reasons, they wouldn't be chased by authority if they did.

It was one thing to be ignored, he was used to it. The lack of attention had benefit him more times than when all eyes were on him. However, Kieran knew that he wasn't being ignored, rather he was forgotten and he found that to hurt more than it should.

The abundance of greenery behind him encouraged the breeze to pick up and blow harshly in his direction. It was terribly cold and Kieran had nothing much on, his tattered jacket could only provide much warmth and the fire he had found comfort in was dying. It truly was unfortunate, and he knew that whoever was up there keeping a watchful eye on everything truly hated him.

He kept himself distracted by picking at the grass he sat on, mumbling to himself about various things, the commotion on the other side of the camp had begun to die down, the rest retreating towards their tents and drawing the doors closed. The storm must be close, and with no tent of his own, Kieran braced himself for the harsh whip of rainwater to drench him and kill the one source of light and warmth he had. 

"O'Driscoll." 

Kieran snapped his head up towards the voice, finding Arthur Morgan a few steps away with his hat down, cigarette in his mouth and hands deep in the pockets of his bright blue coat. 

"I'm not an O'Driscoll, sir." Kieran mumbled, his brows furrowing as he figured that this would be a mantra of his come the following months.

"Sure," Arthur responded nonchalantly, walking closer to Kieran's hunched figure. "Come on, get up."

"What for?"

"Just follow me, and quick."

Arthur's intention was still unclear to Kieran as he brought him inside camp, covering the short distance from the warm fire to Arthur's own tent. 

Kieran looked inside and found it quite impressive, with a large cot and a side table for various momentos of newspaper clippings, framed pictures and old photos that was taped on the rickety wood of the weaponry wagon, it was then that Kieran decided that he should probably stop being curious about the specifics of every event least he gets in bigger trouble. A small area with a wash basin and an old mirror propped on top of a barrel was brought inside but the area remained spacious, warm and away from the rain that began to fall.

However, it was still unclear why Arthur brought him here and the confusion was heavily etched into his face bringing Arthur to finally speak up.

"I've got business to settle in Valentine, a room booked and all. Nothing you need to meddle in, O'Driscoll."

"Did you bring me here to tell me that?" Kieran hadn't meant for it to sound like it did, suprising himself and Arthur with his tone. "Not that it's a bad thing."

"Just don't touch anything, there's a blanket inside the chest and an old coat that smells like mildew," Arthur said, dismissing the odd mix of confusion and awkwardness expressed on Kieran's face. "Use it or whatever."

Kieran's face momentarily lit up as he connected the dots, did Arthur want him to stay here, in his tent?

"Don't think I'm favoring you, O'Driscoll." Arthur spat out with a glare that could kill a man. "None of us need you running back to Colm and rat us out. Stay put or you'll end up with bullets in your head."

Kieran nodded, too overwhelmed to shake and shiver at the threats Arthur threw his way, his eyes gazing at the inviting cot, it had been so long since he laid on the soft texture of a makeshift bed, the grass and the rock were far from comfort and he would have been fine with poor pelt to lay on, and this was much more than that. 

Kieran had turned towards Arthur in an attempt to thank him but found said outlaw already under the rain, saddling his horse and ready to ride away. Perhaps it was the endless pouring of the rain playing tricks on his eyes but he thinks he saw Arthur meet his eyes before riding towards the clearing.

In a heartbeat, Kieran had entered the tent, it's makeshift roof providing cover for his head as the storm blew and poured incessantly. A lantern was propped near a smaller table at the foot of the cot, lighting up the area. The abundance of items scattered throughout hadn't bothered him, he was rather motivated to know more about the outlaw but had pushed that whim away. He felt bundles of comfort as he laid down and wrapped the blanket around him.

It felt nice and right and, even with the cold that creeped on his toes or blew around him, it felt warm.

Perhaps, he wasn't forgotten by everybody after all.


	2. Horseshoe Overlook; Sean's Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're both idiots who don't know what to feel

Just this afternoon, word around camp spread like wildfire that a feller named Sean Macguire was freed from the captivity of big-time bounty hunters. There was a shared vibe of excitement between the camp members, for finally a lost son has come home.

Kieran didn’t know who this man was but if Pearson and Hosea told him to bring out several boxes of whiskey and beer from the inventory, then he really must be important -- but from his observations, it was as if every individual was important. 

And that now included ex-O’Driscolls as himself. He had to admit that admission sent him a little over cloud nine.

Kieran also couldn’t help the small smile that creeped on his features when he had gathered that Arthur, along with Mr. Escuella, Mr. Smith and a stranger going by the name Trewlany, were to thank for. He felt like a proud comrade ready to share in the victories of a war that had finally been won.

It took all day but the fire was fresh, the drinks were out, Pearson had even prepared a special type of stew (perhaps one with flavor this time) and from afar they could hear the herd of horses making their way back home.

Home felt like a foreign concept to Kieran, having to move or be forced to move from state to state, He didn’t exactly have a place to call Home and it was something he had come to accept. It hadn’t bothered him as it did now, seeing the feller Mr. Macguire grab the attention of those near to listen to his drunken speech as he stumbled on the way up the crate, he wondered what that felt like -- the feeling of being listened to, the sound of people laughing with him and not at him.

“Dead eye Macguire is back!” and with that the party was at full swing, and like usual, he kept to himself at the far end of the camp, nursing a bottle of whiskey, entertaining himself with the wild and stupor antics that set the camp going, and admitting that seeing Mr. Williamson trip on his own two feet several times was far more amusing that it should be.

The night was young when he heard the familiar strum of Mr. Escuella’s guitar, tempted to gather himself and join the rest for a night of music, he had quite a gift from what his Mammy had reminded him earlier on. 

That was until he spotted the familiar silhouette of Arthur make his way towards him, and he felt his heart race a bit when their eyes met, Arthur’s being dilated and heavy from a night of drinking.

“O’Driscoll Boy!” Arthur called out, louder than he usually would, the bottle of alcohol swinging with him. “What ‘yer doing here all alone?”

“Nothing, sir. Just minding my own business.”

Arthur sniffed, unamused with the hostler’s response, choosing to sit a respectable distance away from Kieran but close enough to the blazing fire. With the burly cowboy nearby, Kieran felt his shoulders stiffen. It wasn’t that Arthur was intimidating him, rather he was unsure of how he should act around him.

It had only been a few days since Arthur had lent Kieran his resting place to use as shelter from the storm, he had gotten a few looks from Mr. Matthews for being in Arthur’s cot the morning after, he even heard Mr. Marston mention his name when he picked up hay for the horses. It was as if the only point of discussion was him.

Arthur must have shared his tent with others too, it was for a good reason, he couldn’t have been the first to be allowed in the outlaw’s private space. Right?

“Kieran.” Arthur spoke up, breaking the silence and Kieran’s train of thought. 

“Er… yes, sir?”

“Arthur, call me...Arthur.”

Kieran bit his lip, begging for his heart to stop fluttering, it was only a name. Kieran could have called him Arthur anytime, why did he have to act like some naive maiden over it. “Okay, Arthur.”

“Drink with me, Kieran.” Arthur offered, passing the half-empty bottle of booze his way. “Go on, drink.”

Though hesitant, Kieran took a swig, wiping his mouth and expressing his distaste for the drink with an unpleasant expression sending Arthur in a fit of chuckles.

“Oh sure, laugh at me.” Kieran grumbled, already feeling his eyes droop. “I prefer beer over whiskey.”

“Sure.” Arthur drawled, emptying the remains in one chug, sitting in a few minutes of silence before standing up.

“Arthur?” 

Arthur paused and faced Kieran, uncharacteristically patient for what he was about to say, considering to sit back down.

“Why did you do that?” Kieran said, eyes looking down. “Lending me your tent and cot.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No!” Kieran exclaimed, standing up to face Arthur, “It’s not that it’s a problem. It’s just that, e’ryone was talking about it and I couldn’t have been the only one you shared it with, right?” 

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s your private space, Arthur. There were stuff ‘er and the rest don’t even trust me with their saddles but ‘yer there, letting me sleep.”

“Then next time don’t take the damn offer, O’Driscoll.” Arthur growled, feeling rather offended that the few times he did something good, it had to be interpreted wrong by the people he thought knew him better. “If it bothers you so much, pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I’m sorry.” Kieran mumbled, “It’s not that I didn’t appreciate it, I was just confused. I won’t ask anymore questions.”

Arthur took a small step forward and staggered a bit, surprised to have to tilt his head up to meet Kieran’s eyes, how did he not notice that the O’Driscoll was taller than him, and placed his hand on his shoulder, stuttering to say his next words. “No, uhh...I just figured that we didn’t need the horses to be neglected...if you got sick with the storm and all.”

Arthur didn’t give Kieran a chance to speak, turning away from him and walking back to the main campfire with speed that he couldn’t have gathered, being that drunk and all. 

Kieran could only stare at the retreating figure, feeling his cheeks warmed up at the thought of someone caring if he got sick or not. The O’Driscolls wouldn’t have treated him that way, had he caused a fuss, he’d be replaced in a blink of an eye, but it wasn’t like that here.

The lost feeling of belongingness slowly made its way to Kieran, eyes still on Arthur as he stood with the rest. He missed this, the feeling of being part of the puzzle, of having a place, of having a home.

______________________________

“Hey, Arthur!” Sean cried out, stumbling on his own two feet and his back hunched as he tried to walk with Arthur. “Straighten that back out, English. You aren’t drunk yet.”

Arthur grumbled and stopped himself from hitting the Irish on the head. Instead, he stood upright and let his eyes drift to the other blazing fire where an O’Driscoll lost in thought sat. Exhaling loudly and grabbing the bottle in Sean’s hand, the latter whined in response, finishing the drink in one swig.

“Don’t remind me. I can hold my liquor longer than any of you fools.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! maybe you could leave kudos and some comments/constructive criticism <3


	3. Clemens Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do mind the tag changes :'P

"Fuck." Kieran cursed under his breath, swatting away mosquitoes that perched on his tired and sticky with sweat limbs, his grip on the horse brush loosening up, straightening his back before looking around observing as the rest began adjusting to their new place.

Clemens Point, an impressively large piece of land adorned with a forest of its own, where at the other end laid sandy shores leading to a wide river stretching from the ends of the state of Lemoyne and inhabiting bits of the fishing state of Lagras. 

It was a beautiful area, Kieran admits, but it was too humid for his liking. The already thin texture of his clothes providing little to no comfort from the spiking heat. He also overheard that the state of Lemoyne held the strangest of principles with notorious gangs stuck with the mindset of a soldier who is still fighting the war that ended decades ago. Feeling quite sorry that the only piece of beauty Lemoyne had to offer was the picturesque view of the rising and setting sun. It had given him quite the motivation to rise early for the chores he would still be told to do -- wiping tables, feeding horses and polishing saddles.

Oh but the humidity was unbearable, he was amazed that fellers like Mr. Escuella could still hang around the campfire and tolerate the warmth it radiates. Unlike him, Kieran had fancied a large bush that was perched on top of a cliff-like surface, it granted him minimum privacy and from time to time a summer breeze blew towards him and cooled his exhausted body.

Around camp, the more productive members busied themselves with chores, anything to get their minds distracted from the unbearable heat. Mr. Smith and Mr. Marston chose to work in repairing the wagon full of medicine while the ladies tended to the orders barked by Miss Grimshaw. Even as he stood by the end, he could hear her shrill voice as it lectured and scolded. Mary-Beth told him that Miss Grimshaw was probably at a point in her life where nothing felt right and had to let the frustrations out so it didn't bother her as much, Kieran had admired how she was able to tune out that much noise and find the good in it.

In fact, Mary-Beth told him lots of things, he had only been in camp for a couple of months and despite everyone making the effort to intimidate, humiliate and harass the O'Driscoll, Mary-Beth reached out and even initiated idle conversation with Kieran when they were settled in Horseshoe Overlook. Mary-Beth promised giving Kieran lessons in reading for he couldn't understand a single word in those books she would enjoy so much and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't excited for it. 

The letters he could write and books he could read, it was as if there was a whole 'nother universe ready to be discovered, he overhead Lenny say it that way when he (once again) offered Sean lessons to read and write.

Though they weren't as close as Mary-Beth, Lenny and Sean were two other fellers that he had subtly confided in. It was Sean who struck the conversation with him regarding his past during the rare and few times he was invited in the main campfire and Lenny would often saunter to the scout campfire when he was off-duty engaging in conversation and even assuring him that things would be okay.

Another one to add to the list was Miss Jones, and that one was a memory he treasured. Recalling the time Bill had found it amusing to poke fun and threaten his manhood once again, it was her who assured him that men like Bill or John wouldn’t lay a hand on Kieran for he was one of them now, that they weren’t all so bad.

The very concept of "them" struck him hard that day, it was as if he was finally part of the larger picture and considered as something by everyone else. He didn't want nor expect anybody to treat him like family just yet, but it felt heartwarming to be a member of a collective idea. Thinking of it again had allowed a small smile to grace his features

"Kieran."

Kieran turned to the direction of the gruff voice he had grown familiar with. Trying to push down the sudden flutter in his stomach as his brown eyes met Arthur's own.

"Arthur." Kieran replied promptly, wiping the sweat on his brow with his forearm as he stood up to face the cowboy. Kieran wouldn't tell a single soul but he found it amusing to be towering over him by just a few inches.

"How're you liking the place?" 

"It's fine but er…" 

"Go on tell me." Arthur grumbled, a tone that Kieran had grown used to, it wasn't that he was mad, that was just how Arthur spoke. "I don't got all day."

"It's the horses, t-they've been through a lot and if I could get some burdock root, I can make a poultice that will get 'em back in shape."

"Burdock root?"

"Yes, sir. Just a bit."

"I got some here," Arthur said, reaching into his bag, digging through clutter to reach for herbs that were carefully kept under wraps, handing it to Kieran's awaiting hands without a second thought. 

"Oh! Thank you, sir. This is plenty, I'll be sure to leave some for your horse." 

"Sure but uh," Arthur stuttered, another uncharacteristic trait which captured Kieran's attention -- after all, when had the Arthur Morgan stuttered, "I told you to call me Arthur, didn't I?"

And there it was again, the fluttering feeling that pooled in his stomach and kept his heart on edge. 

"Oh, yeah. 'M sorry." 

And that was another thing, there was this awkward tension that always appeared between them. The feeling where they wanted to say something, but was held back by unknown forces. There were days were Kieran wanted to ask Arthur how his day was then wished to invite him for a drink and engage in banter like they did during that night at Sean's party.

The laughter they shared and even the comfortable silence was something Kieran found himself to be craving for, and it didn’t feel right if it were with anyone else but Arthur.

"I'll get going." Arthur mumbled, blaming the heat for the gentle shade of pink that he was turning into. "See ya 'round."

"Sure uh...Arthur."

Kieran wasn't exactly sure of what to make of his and Arthur's relationship, if you could call it that. There was this unexplainable want to be around him, to share in his thoughts and find comfort with each other. He held a mysterious air around everyone else but showed a whole other side around him, and there were countless occasions were Arthur felt the need to say something during their small conversations but would hold himself back before excusing himself and saddling up to ride far from camp.

Kieran won't deny that Arthur made him feel giddy, he didn't deny that Arthur looked devilishly handsome under the sun nor deny that hints of his smile or bits of his laughter gave Kieran the most fluttering feeling. He was aware that there were moments Kieran wished that Arthur would saunter over his direction and spend some time with him, or bring him a meal or share a cup of coffee. But who didn't feel that way around Arthur Morgan? He couldn’t be the only one.

Kieran could only brush aside the thoughts that were filling his head once again, resuming to brush Branwen’s mane and tail. 

________

“Have you ever come to consider that maybe,” Mary-Beth spoke in a low tone, nearly whispering, “maybe, you might be feeling something else?”

Kieran looked up from the book that was laid in front of him, feigning confusion with the topic of discussion. “What’dya mean? What feelings?”

“About Arthur?”

“What about Arthur?”

Mary-Beth huffed exasperatedly, she knew that Kieran would spend the whole day, if he could, avoiding the subject if she simply went around the question. “You know what I’m talking about, Kieran.”

“I really don't, Mary-Beth.” Kieran muttered under his breath, dismissing the topic at hand. “I rather you teach me how to read this,” He said, pointing at a word on the page, only for Mary-Beth to ignore his inquiry and push the book aside.

“You like Arthur, don’t you?” 

“Who doesn’t,” Kieran answered with a roll of his eyes, “He’s a nice guy, Mary-Beth. He even gave you that neat looking fountain pen.”

“Not that but,” Mary-Beth spoke, choosing her words carefully. “You actually do like Arthur, don’t you, Kieran?”

“I...I don’t...I can’t like men, Mary-Beth.” Kieran choked out, a nervous chuckle leaving him, his hands being wrung in nervousness, his shoulders slouched. “Liking Arthur, that’s unheard of, it’s not...right.”

“But you do.” Mary-Beth replied, sitting up straight, a determined expression on her face. “And I don’t see what’s wrong with it. If other women could do it, why shouldn’t men?” 

The deafening silence of Kieran concerned Mary-Beth, making the lady look under Kieran’s bowed head, her cheery expression immediately replaced by that of pity upon seeing the tears welling up Kieran’s eyes.

“It isn’t right, Mary-Beth.” Kieran mumbled, trying not to attract anymore attention from those camp members that passed by who still had trouble leaving or trusting the O’Driscoll by himself. “It’s unheard of. I should be liking pretty girls such as yourself and not...not him.”

“It’s not wrong though, Kieran.” Mary-Beth said, running a comforting hand down her friend’s back. “They tell me about it in stories all the time, it’s love and love couldn’t be wrong. It’s where your heart feels right in place.”

Kieran chuckled and faced Mary-Beth, face flushed and eyes damp with tears, “Goddamn it, even my own damn heart had to be something different from everybody else.”

Mary-Beth giggled, eyes drifting to the rowdy blonde swinging an empty bottle towards the lazy Irish at the other end of camp. “You’d be surprised, you really aren’t all that different.”

Kieran followed her line of sight, observing the way Mary-Beth has softened and displayed her lovesick expression towards the woman she desired, and pressed his lips together.

A new feeling rose in his chest, it was incredibly unfamiliar, out of place, lost. It felt a lot like he did when he was freed from tree captivity, but somewhere under the layers of fear and missing self-assurance -- it felt right.

The sound of horses coming back to camp snapped him out of his thoughts, attention towards the cowboy which lead his horse to the posts. 

He has to get moving, to feed the horses, brush and pamper. Kieran begged that whoever was listening, let somebody bark orders for him to follow, distract him, let him unlearn what he has learned.

“Kieran.” Arthur called out, hands reaching into his bag. “I got something here.”

More burdock root perhaps? 

Kieran was firm on his ground, ready to turn the set of herbs down, but felt his knees go weak and his heart drop to his stomach to where the worst case of the butterflies began to emerge when, instead of well-wrapped herbs, Arthur handed him a book.

“Heard from Mary-Beth that you were trying to read.” There was an unusually giddy grin on his face, Arthur was rather proud of what he found while turning an abandoned house for anything to bring back to camp, and surprised himself when the person that popped in his head was Kieran -- not Hosea, or Dutch or even Jack, but Kieran Duffy. “Figured you could get some practice reading this.”

Kieran felt as if time had stopped, that they were the only ones in that moment. His fingers brushing Arthur’s own rough ones, it scared him how he almost forgot to breathe.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Kieran said softly, taking the book to his own hands.

“Sure.” With that Arthur turned around, walking towards Dutch to speak of info he gathered around the state of Lemoyne.

Kieran held the book tight, his hands were shaking and he felt everything that had to be felt, the emotions, the increasing adrenaline rushing through his veins, the way his mouth felt dry and from this moment, it was as if Lemoyne’s humidity was the least of his problems.

Goddamn, he was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnnnnng angst ? ish. yeah.


	4. Shady Belle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end! 
> 
> note: mentions of character death, but that's it.

And once again, the Van Der Lindes found themselves leaving loose ends and packing for an area Lenny and Arthur had found weeks ago.

Clemens Point was no longer a place they could hide, and as they packed what they could, the air was thick with tension and it was uncomfortably quiet too. Much so that the mud that squished under Kieran's boots as he lead the horses together was enough to turn heads. The tension in the air was incredibly thick for just days ago, word has it that the Van Der Lindes lost an ace, and they were absolutely correct. 

It was quite unfortunate to hear and be there for Sean's passing. Kieran remembers seeing the lively Irish saunter his way to the scout campfire, poke fun at the whole ex-O'Driscoll business before leaving camp with Mr. Williamson and Mr. Bell. 

He was smiling then.

It was an odd skill but being around horses so much gave him the ability to detect just how big of a herd was heading back or which member was coming home and he knew, from the moment the sound of galloping came close, it was missing one.

Kieran vividly recalls the paleness of Karen's face when she peered over the crowd and caught sight of his corpse, he remembers that she downed several bottles for the whole day, even sneering at Susan's lecture when told to get to her chores.  
That night he recalls how drunk she was as she approached him by the sandy shores of Clemens Point, how she slowly sat down by his side and cried quietly, he remembers his cautious hand that rubbed across her back in a futile attempt to calm her down.

"I didn't mean it." Karen choked, a fresh stream of tears falling from her puffy eyes. "He said he'll come back," She was shaking at this point, face stricken with grief, "and I told him not to. It was just a fucking joke. It was a fucking joke, Sean."

Kieran felt frozen, unsure of what to do or what to say, and as to why, of all the people who were still up during that hour, she had approached him. But he could feel the hurt and the deep regret she was nursing, it was quite a sorry sight.  
Karen leaned on his shoulder and continued to weep, clearly too drunk to comprehend that she was leaning on him -- granted, she did say that he was part of them, but he could only do so much and he dearly wished someone was here to help her.

Right on cue, Kieran spotted Arthur enter his line of sight, his posture slouched, a tight-lipped expression on his face, deep in thought. 

He looked dashing with the moonlight in his face like that, Kieran could bet that the warmth on his face could rival that of Karen's drunken stupor.

But that was the least of his problems.

Gathering himself together, Kieran called for Arthur, the latter's attention grabbed immediately, turning to the voice, surprised to find the grieving blonde on Kieran's shoulders, her hands tightly gripping Kieran's raggedy cardigan.

"Could you help me get her up?"

"Sure."

With careful hands, Arthur wrapped his left arm around Karen's torso, holding her waist up. On the other side, Kieran supported her, careful as to not stir her awake. Together, they raised her from the ground and walked to her sleeping mat, surprised to find Mary-Beth, who was usually first to sleep, still up.

"Mary-Beth?"

The girl turned to them, relief on her face upon seeing Karen being carried. "Oh good." She sighed, sitting up to help them lay her down. "I didn't see her for a few hours, who knows where she got to."

"You were waiting for her?" Arthur asked, arms now free from Karen.

Mary-Beth could only flush at his question, avoiding Arthur's deep gaze, focused on fixing Karen's posture on the mat. "I was worried, is all."

"She took it hard." Kieran mumbled, wringing his hands together, "she told me she didn't mean it."

"None of it is her fault." Arthur said, a sad sigh escaping his lips. "I rather that bullet hit Micah than Sean. None of us saw it coming." 

With that Arthur stood up and somberly walked back to his tent, drawing the door close as he entered, truly wanting to be left alone as the light from his lantern died.

Arthur saw it coming, Kieran knew he did, because contrary to Dutch's words, Arthur was actually a smart man. But he could only do so much to pull people away from danger, but he tried. He did.

It was a quiet night, Dutch didn't even have his music on and Kieran found it hard to fall asleep. He figured that would be the last of their troubles, perhaps Dutch and the Braithwaites would team up to completely take down the Grays.

But there were no more Grays, Kieran didn't know that. And from a distance, he spotted the Braithwaites coming close, and a hopeful thought in him passed, that perhaps that truce would be much closer than he thought.

With that, he closed his eyes, leaned on the inviting tree and fell asleep.

There were a lot of things that Kieran didn't know because he wasn't exactly the man the camp deemed to be trusted with confidential information. Up to this day, fellers like Mr. Bell and Mr. Escuella would rather spend the day being dragged through mud tied to the back of a wild horse than greet the man a simple "Good Morning". 

He didn't know that the Braithwaites weren't there for any truce, nor were they there to strike business. What he now knew was that they were low-lying inbred monsters that was worth nothing and would not shine when put up to a gaggle of outlaws such as the Van Der Lindes.

For the following day, he was awoken by a mother's panicked cry. And having heard her worried call for Jack every single day he's been here, he could sense the urgency.

"Where is my goddamn son?!" Abigail cried out, voice in distress. "Where is he? Where is my son?!"

Kieran watched from the tree he spent the night in, eyes filled with worry as he found himself scrambling to his feet and coming close to the group who were desperately trying to calm Abigail down, but how would one calm down a mother who has kept her eye out on her son for ages, and the one time she didn't he is suddenly gone and taken by bad men.

"They took him, didn't they?" Abigail cried out, pointing to the distance.

"Who did?" Arthur asked, his posture stiff and ready for incoming battle.

"We figured the Braithwaites took him last night." Hosea replied, matching Abigail's worry.

Kieran's face paled upon hearing Hosea and staggered back, tears welling up. The cruel realization dawning upon him as flashes of the wee hours of last night came to him. He thought they were there to talk business, to finish it all. 

He caused this. Kieran Duffy caused Jack Marston's kidnapping. 

He was lost in his thoughts even until the men of camp rode towards the Braithwaites mansion, even as scattered folks passed and pushed by him, nothing was getting through because he believes that if only he wasn't himself then the poor boy wouldn't have been taken. Jack would still be here, his mother's constant nagging the most trouble he'd face. Now he's probably in the arms of an undignified person doing who knows what.

Not even the playful nudge of the horse's snapped him out of his dazed thoughts. It was only till Dutch and the rest had rode back, with orders to move did he snapped out of his thoughts. Getting up to his feet to tend to the horses and get them ready for heavy load.

Kieran thinks to himself, hands busy with brushing the horses and tying them to the wagons, that perhaps he should run, to look forward and go on his days asking for forgiveness for the damage he's done. 

That was until his eyes drifted to Ms. Jackson who was comforting the distressed Abigail, telling her that everyone would do what they could to get him back. He found himself walking to them, the very presence of guilt bringing him to his feet.

"Ms. Roberts?" Kieran meekly spoke up, eyes on the ground. "I'm sorry, I really am. I saw 'em Braithwaites heading here and figured they was talkin' of business." Abigail could only stare at him in response and Kieran just kept talking. "If I could, I would have given my life up for him. I-I know it doesn't work that way but I do mean it."

Kieran received nothing on Abigail’s end and he couldn’t tell if that silence was a good or bad thing, but it felt right to admit to his wrongdoings. There was not much he can do now but hope that the rest could bring him back. He turned and walked back to his spot, nearly colliding with Micah who only snorted at the Van Der Linde’s whipping boy as he ran even faster.

Dear God he was a mess and unless Jack is safe and sound, he’ll be rid of guilt.  
He was tending to his duties as Dutch called the attention of Arthur and John to clear their new area of anybody who might still be lurking. Assuring the rest that as soon as they were on the move, Jack will immediately be retrieved. And at the corner of Clemens Point, Kieran mumbles a prayer that he is returned with not a   
single scratch on his lithe body.

“Kieran?” 

The boy turned towards Mary-Beth who looks as if she’s seen better days. She didn’t have neither journal or a pocketbook with her which was unusual, instead she wore a tired worried face with her all-too familiar smile.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” 

“Do you wanna talk ‘bout it?” Mary-Beth offered, a sympathetic smile on her face. “I heard that conversation you had with Abigail.”

“Would you even call ‘at a conversation?”

“Well, it was something.”

Kieran chuckled shyly at her response, eyes looking down and hands once again wrung anxiously. “I caused it, Mary-Beth. I was the reason Jack was kidnapped. I saw them and I did nothing ‘bout it.”

“Hey.” Mary-Beth said sternly, a disappointed expression painted on her freckled features. “You’re just like Karen, blamin’ yourself like that.”

“But it is-”

“It isn’t, Kieran.” Mary-Beth interjected. “It isn’t your fault, no one had informed you about them and had you known, I know you wouldn’t allow them rednecks to even breathe the same air as Jack, and he threw rocks at you!”

Kieran grimaced at that memory, but what did Jack know? He was just following what everyone else was doing at that time. He isn’t like that anymore, Jack had even gifted him a chain of flowers once and that was the most heartwarming act anybody has done for him.

“Don’t worry, Kieran.” Mary-Beth reassured, looking towards John and Arthur who were ready to ride. “Besides, Arthur and John’s got this. You trust ‘em, don’t you? You trust Arthur, at least.”

Kieran flustered at the subtle hint Mary-Beth delivered. Of course, he trusted Arthur. He was one of their best men, he did most things right and kept the gang running, even if Dutch would like to claim the sole credit to himself. Most people knew that it was Arthur they’d run to if they needed something, Dutch did the speaking and Arthur did the action.

Kieran looked towards Arthur, perhaps longer than he should have, feeling quite breathless at how the cowboy brought himself even in times of crisis and panic. Arthur met his gaze and he felt his heart speed up, his face became incredibly warm and his breath was knocked out of him. Arthur did as much to nod at his direction before riding away allowing Kieran to collect himself.

This was just too much for him, even when Kieran had come to realize his feelings for him, it was still a little too new, a little too overwhelming, and he wonders if that’s something he’ll ever get accustomed to.

It took half the day before John rode back to camp and signaled the rest to start moving. Kieran jumped on the back of the food wagon and sat next to Mary-Beth, who was still trying to keep the bottle from Karen, before he was called by Dutch to be in the carriage with Miss O’Shea instead.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Get in.”

It was highly unusual, but Kieran (for once) didn’t want to think of the true intention of Dutch’s orders. It was far too tiring to try and understand the man. It was dreadfully silent in their drive towards, what Lenny called it, Shady Belle. And for once, he would have preferred they argued about Dutch’s obvious intent towards Mary-Beth than to simply avert each other’s stares.

They arrived sooner than expected but Kieran felt as if it were a whole lifetime, helping Miss O’Shea off the carriage while Dutch took in the view, trying to see a positive light in the alligator-ridden rivers, humid air, moss-filled camp they now resided in.

“We never had a terrace.” Dutch said, a little too proud, “That’s quite delightful.”

Kieran got to work quickly, tending the horses, polishing saddles and whichever order would come up. That was until Arthur had called him over, calling him to his side just under the terrace that Dutch was gushing about.

“Arthur?”

“Words going around that you talked to Abigail?” Arthur began, a noticeable change of tone in his voice. “What were you saying to her?”

Kieran felt his heart drop to his stomach, suddenly fearing the man who might not only be holding his heart but his life too. 

“I-” Kieran started, voice caught in his throat and eyes looking at anywhere else besides Arthur. A sudden burst of emotions carrying his reply. “I simply told the truth, Arthur! I-It was my fault, and I could have done something but-”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Kieran raised his head and stared at Arthur, surprised by his response. Even more surprised when Arthur laid his heavy hand on Kieran’s shoulder, patting it in an attempt to acknowledge his words. The warmth of his hand bleeding through his blue cardigan and white shirt, sending contrasting cold chills down his spine.

“You did good, admitting it like that.” Arthur continued, hand still on his shoulder. “Even if that could have gotten you shot by Abigail herself. She probably sensed your sincerity … or something.”

For a moment or two, they stayed like that. Eyes locked into each other, Arthur still holding on to Kieran’s shoulder, had they been elsewhere, Kieran would have appreciated it if Arthur placed his arm around his waist and slow danced him to nothing. It never had to be anything big as long as he had him around, they didn’t need music or lights, just each other.

But in a quick flash, Arthur pulled his arm away, letting it swing by his side, and Kieran mourned its loss. 

Arthur cleared his throat and flashed Kieran a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll get going.” 

“Okay, Arthur.” Kieran, with his senses dulled and blurred, replied. Looking a little more lost than he usually did. 

He always felt lost when Arthur was no longer around.

___________

As per usual, everything moved quick with the Van Der Lindes.

For that night, after smooth talking and, basing from the gunshots they heard dead in the night in the civilized town of Saint Denis, shooting. Arthur, along with Dutch and John, had retrieved Jack who for the entire time talked of spaghetti, a dish not a single person in camp understood. 

From that moment, it was as if the unfortunate events and passing of a friend had passed, the time to grieve and to pay respects was a time of the past. They had a reason to celebrate and that was for Jack. Kieran thinks that Sean would have loved it anyway.

The all-too familiar boxes of booze and whiskey were open, the music played loudly and the fire burned brighter than it usually did. Kieran felt his heart lighten by several degrees seeing Jack happily perched on Abigail’s lap, just like where he should be. 

Karen was at her side, quite pleased to find another reason to drink (be it for sorrow or to celebrate), she flashed Kieran a playful grin before getting up from the log she sat on, stumbling towards him, grabbing a bottle of whiskey on her way, and offering the cool bottle of alcohol. And it didn’t take much convincing to do that, eagerly opening the bottle and drinking by gulps.

The music continued to pour, Mr. Escuella had played a song in a language he does not understand, but sang along to the parts that sounded like English before pouring another drink. 

Kieran found himself stumbling across the camp, going to and fro the campfire, finding the liquid courage to call out Arthur who was laughing along with everyone else. 

“You sure know how to party, Arthur!” 

“How many have you had, Kieran?”

“If I didn’t join y’all I would have been dead.”

“We both could have died.” Arthur said in a nonchalant tone. “In Six Point Cabin.”  
“Oh.”

Drunk Kieran concluded that Arthur wasn’t a fun person to talk to in parties. An inanimate tree would have been far more entertaining, but he hovered around him anyway. It took a while before he found himself sitting near the gang, being warmed by the fire and joining in to whatever song they sang to. Karen kept indulging him to drink more and at this point, he is half-convinced that his blood is half-booze. 

That night could have gone on forever and he wouldn’t have complained. But then little by little, the large crowd by the fireplace dissipated to a few who were awake enough to sing lightly to Uncle’s tune on the banjo. 

Kieran found himself stumbling towards the gazebo which was surrounded by packs of sand, that even with the war over several decades ago, the previous inhabitants still kept it, really questions just what keeps them going.

The midnight breeze crept up to his neck, and felt the need to walk off the chill he was feeling. Perhaps just by the trees there by the front, no one would notice. 

He had begun to walk slowly until he was pulled back by a stronger force, forcing him to stumble back and land on the sandbags, his hat falling back and covering his face. Instead of whining in pain, Kieran could only laugh at his odd disposition, pulling the accessory away from him.

Above him stood a rather surprised Arthur, hand in air, surprised by his own strength to bring a man much taller than him, and that expression was quite hilarious to Kieran’s buzzed head. Here was a man who shot his way to wherever he is now, and here he was, shocked to be able to bring a skinny man, such as himself, down.

“You’re looking real dumb, Arthur.” Kieran drawled out between chuckles. 

“Watch it, O’Driscoll.” 

“Don’t…” Kieran slurred out, trying to get back on his feet, feeling his drunken state wave by. “Don’t call me that, Arthur.”

Kieran took a deep breath and tried to stare down Arthur, the latter only chuckling at the poor attempt of intimidation. “You aren’t scaring a sheep with that, Kieran.”

“I’m really trying here, mister.” 

“I know.”

“I- I should…sober up, yeah?”

“That would be for the best. Yeah.”

Kieran tried to fix his posture, attempting to stand on his own lanky two legs. Not pleased with how Arthur was losing his cool watching their whipping boy fail to even walk straight. Arthur notes that he should thank Karen for getting him this drunk. It was hilarious.

They always tell that alcohol brings out the truth in everyone, that’s why married husbands feared drinking in front of their wives, unsure of what bullshit they’ll be spewing out after several swigs of alcohol. That is why they call it liquid courage, and that was perhaps the sole reason as to why Kieran said what he did say next:

“I love you.” 

Or it could have been the way Arthur’s eyes crinkled shut as Kieran tried to stand, his nose flaring up in pure amusement, there was a light that sparkled in his expression, the night sky and its stars would have bowed down to the way he shined with his shy grin and smile.

He was too fucking attractive.

“You what?”

Kieran frowned, sniffed in response and mumbled about Arthur being a deaf man, trying to stand once again. Further upset when Arthur pulled him back, and kept his shoulder there, and like a bucket of cold water, the warmth that familiarly bled through his clothes kicked the drunken stupor out of Kieran and found himself in a situation he didn’t think he would have anytime soon.

Kieran could have sworn that his heart was beating loud enough for Arthur to hear, beating hard enough to jump out of his own chest, and that perhaps his lungs have completely given up on him, all the blood rushing to his face and all the nerves shaking him to the very core.

Holy shit.

Silence draped the two for several moments, Kieran couldn’t find it in himself to break eye contact, fearing that perhaps upon revealing his feelings to the man, Arthur would either run away or shoot him dead. He was really rooting for the second option, it would hurt a lot less. Would Arthur be disgusted? Would he ask him to leave or ask Swanson to bless this sickness and hope it won’t affect other men?

Arthur was just too unreadable, he doesn’t know what to expect. Even more so when Arthur asked him once again to repeat what it was he said.

Dear God, was it not enough that he had to embarrass himself in front of Arthur, he now had to repeat just what it was because that hand on his shoulder wasn’t going anywhere -- and not in the way he would have wanted.

Kieran took a deep breath, and pressed his lips together, the look of absolute regret on his face. Thinking twice before mumbling his reply. “I said, I liked you.”

It was quite coincidental for Mr. Escuella to play a smooth tone and have it be heard by the both of them but to Kieran, it felt like pure cruelty for fate or whoever decided how things go to do just that.

At this point, the silence was just unbearable, Kieran had to say something, anything. “I’ll leave you alone, Arthur. I won’t make it uncomfortable, just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“You’re lying.” Arthur pointed out, hand still on Kieran’s shoulder, “That’s not what you said.”

“What?” Kieran flushed, thinking to himself that what was the difference if what he really said was love and not like?

“That’s not what you said.”

“Fine!” Kieran cried out, just exhausted of the surge of embarrassment and fear that continuously ran through his body. “I said I love you, what ‘bout it! ‘Ts the same thing.” The heat that flushed around his cheeks wasn’t dying anytime soon and in all honesty, he just wanted this to end. 

He knows Arthur would actively avoid him now, just who would willingly approach a man after he confesses his feelings while drunk towards another man?

“It isn’t the same thing.” Arthur mumbled, his face just as flushed as Kieran’s. 

Hesitantly, Arthur dropped the hand on Kieran’s shoulder and let it hold onto the man’s waist, his other hand intertwining with Kieran’s hand to which he raised to his shoulder and with careful steps, Arthur lead him to sway and move to the song Javier played.

Out of all the consequences that Kieran had mapped out, dancing under the night sky in a gazebo covered with sandbags to the song of the guitar was not one of them. He was so far off.

In a haze, Arthur had danced Kieran, swaying him from side to side, keeping their distance neither men daring to come closer in fear of the other flinching away. They danced like they had all the time in the world, that the night was theirs to own and perhaps, during those minutes they shared, it was.

Arthur stopped dancing, his eyes shy and his face flushed, voice small but rough. “When you say you like something, it’s just being interested.” He paused and bit his lip, Arthur knew himself and knew that he was not a man of words, rather he preferred giving presents than speaking poems like Dutch did to Molly. “I can say I like dancing with you.”

Kieran could only collect himself to say: “I like dancing with you too. At least, I think I do like it now.”

“But, when you say you love someone…” Arthur continued, his own chest beating fast, he almost wants the ground to swallow him whole. “It’s much more than that.”

“Oh.”

“So, I need to know.” Arthur had dropped both his hands, and shyly placed it on his side, eyes hesitantly meeting Kieran’s. “What did you say?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Arthur flushed deep scarlet that even the tips of his ears were red. His eyes still shaking, and lips pressed tighter than before, he’s glad that he was no longer holding Kieran’s hand for his very own was visibly shaking. This was all new territory but then if it was with Kieran, then everything might just be okay.  
Kieran’s soul and very being has left the physical plane at this point. Even more so when Arthur reached in and held his hand tight. His calloused thumb rubbing Kieran’s knuckles.

_“Do you trust him, Kieran?”_

_“Of course I do.”_  
___________________  
Morning came and the collective grunt of those whose hungover had hit hard resonated within Shady Belle. Around the extinguished campfire, Javier swears to himself to never drink as he walked towards the pot of coffee, his action being seconded by Charles and John.

“Good Morning, fellers.”

“Good Morning, Arthur.” John mumbled, head still spinning. “You’re up early.”

“It’s 10AM.” 

“Is it now.”

Behind them, the girls who rose earlier than the rest began to start on their chores, Karen being exempted as she still lay fast asleep next to Mary-Beth, who was sewing and humming to herself, looking up as she spotted Kieran making his way over where the stack of hay was.

“Good Morning, Kieran.”

“Good Morning, Mary-Beth.” 

“You’re looking chipper this morning.”

“I- I am?” 

“Looks like it.”

“It’s probably from all the alcohol last night.” Kieran mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. “I should get a cup of coffee.”

Kieran approached the stew pot, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Eyes refusing to meet any of the men that stood nearby. Ready to drink the warm cup in silence.

“Good Morning, Kieran.”

Kieran flushed a deep scarlet as the familiar voice reached his ears. Clearing his throat as he faced Arthur who wore an all too mischievous look.

“G-Good Morning, Arthur.”

Those nearby would have asked as to when had Arthur called the O’Driscoll by their first name or why they had a certain air around them. They’ll ask why Arthur looks brighter than he usually did, and they’ll ask why Kieran hovered around Arthur so much. They’ll ask why their fishing trips took longer than it usually would have. Why they look at each other so much, or why Arthur sat in the scout’s campfire now and not where he usually was.

They could be wondering where the two were last night, and why they were there and what they did.

That could all wait but right now? Coffee was getting cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew.
> 
> thank you so much for reading this story, I enjoyed writing this down and I can't wait to write more for all of you, but for now, this is it <3
> 
> see you!  
follow me @kierthur on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> do send me constructive criticism! I don't think english is my greatest strength but I hope you enjoyed :--)


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